


Want Some Milk?

by Hazel_eyes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, Living Together, M/M, Milk, OR IS IT, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sharing a Bed, but its not a euphemism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 12:24:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14568951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazel_eyes/pseuds/Hazel_eyes
Summary: Bucky doesn't know what he wants. Steve just wants to help.(Inspired by that scene in Winter Soldier with Alexander Pierce.)





	Want Some Milk?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on here and I finished it 2 years ago, but I'm posting now because I rarely actually finish fics, and even though I see a lot wrong with this one, I want to share it with people because otherwise whats the point. If you're reading, THANK YOU ILY and please be kind xx
> 
> Dedicated to my babe Fanny ;)

It doesn’t seem to be getting easier.

The first few weeks were weird. Bucky and Steve tiptoeing around each other, both terrified they’d alarm the other enough to leave. But after Bucky finally broke, and yelled and crashed about for hours over some minor arm malfunction, but didn’t leave and neither did Steve, they felt more at ease. Steve still can’t quite believe it when he sees Bucky wandering around the apartment in Steve’s clothes but weeks passed, then months. And Bucky is still there, alive, and not running away.

He doesn’t run but he isn’t healing either. They don’t talk much about what has happened to them. There’s so much to say but neither knows how to start. Steve sure can’t forget the pain he lived with for all the time he was without Bucky and how he thought his best friend, the one person who’d been there for him before everything, the man he loved, was never coming back. Even now it feels like Buck, _his_ Bucky, isn’t really back.

Steve talks to Sam. Sam’s his best friend these days and Steve’s recounted his past with Bucky to him many times already. Sam knows how they grew up together, were near inseparable and wanted the same things from life. He’s listened to Steve reminisce about how they fell in love so gradually they almost didn’t realise it themselves and how they finally made a go of it, only to find themselves in a war which pulled them apart and destroyed the future they’d hoped for together.

And god yes Steve would like to go right back to before all that. But he knows he won’t ever get back his life as it was, Bucky may never be the same again and they may never fit neatly together again like they used to. He’d just love some kind of normalcy in this changed world he’s trying to get accustomed to. And ‘normal’ means Bucky by his side.

So Steve tells Sam how much he misses Bucky even though he’s right there. He explains how he wants, he _needs_ Bucky to give him _something_ so that he knows his friend is still inside. He wants to elicit some kind of response but he doesn’t want to go too far and risk everything. He can tell Sam’s getting tired of his whining. He needs to make a move, make something happen. And it finally does one dull day in December when they’re both lounging around with nothing to do.

Steve finished his last mission the previous week and after a few lazy days of sleep and TV, he’d finally dragged himself into the kitchen for a decent meal. He made twice as much as he wanted and left it warm in the pans for just a few minutes before Bucky was stumbling out of his room, following the smell of bacon and naked but for a pair of Steve’s boxers. He helped himself to the food silently, and sat opposite Steve, eating breakfast noisily and grunting ‘thanks’ as he slurped some juice from the carton Steve had set out.

Bucky is messy. He doesn’t help Steve out with money, not that Steve is short exactly. But they never talk about it. He wears Steve’s clothes even though Steve offered to buy him new things. He spends most of his time shut in his bedroom (which previously was Steve’s studio, and Steve assumes his art stuff remains in there, mostly untouched). And the rest of the time he’s sprawled on the sofa watching the TV and munching on dry cereal, hand reaching straight into the box. Steve doesn’t mind Bucky being around. Not at all. He even admits to Sam how much he loves coming in the door to the familiar sounds of Friends re-runs and deep chuckles through mouthfuls of coco pops. He feels more at home than ever. But he still gets bored. And he thinks Bucky must too.

So he sits and watches Bucky eating, feels it as a reminder of how much he loves this man. And he says “Buck, we should do something different. I’ve got nothing on today, we could do something just the two of us.” And Bucky looks up at him, blue eyes wide and still. Just waiting. Steve asks him “What do you want to do?”

Bucky frowns. He frowns so deep that a little line appears between his eyebrows and then he crumbles. His head drops down, hair covering his face in a curtain. His hands hang limply by his sides and Steve can see him shudder. Steve goes to say something else, confused by this reaction, but Bucky trembles and Steve knows him well enough to know he’s crying. Steve hesitates only a second before rounding the table to grab Bucky’s shoulders and pull him up into a hug.

There have been a few hugs since Bucky has been back. Awkward, anxious hugs that weren’t enjoyable simply because of how distant they still were. But this is new territory. This hug is tight and desperate, Bucky’s hands coming up to Steve’s shoulder and fingers digging into the muscles. “What’s this about, Buck? What did I say? I don’t…” Steve mumbles the words directly into Bucky’s ear, desperate to understand.

“I don’t know.” Bucky whispers back.

“You don’t know why you’re upset? I just wanted—”

“No! I mean. I just don’t _know_ ,” Bucky takes a breath to gasp out the end of his sentence, “What I _want_.”

“Oh.” Steve breathes into Bucky’s neck, his head feeling heavy. He understands. Anyone might feel like they don’t know what they want. But the way Bucky says it. He really doesn’t know what he wants, doesn’t know how to want, his mind altered so he doesn’t get distracted from his purpose. He’s not even used to being asked what he wants. Hydra really fucked his brain.

And Steve is pulling Bucky tighter into his grasp, wants to keep him plastered to his chest, protect him and eradicate any trace of Hydra from his mind. He wants him safe. Steve once told Sam sometimes he thinks Bucky is all he actually cares about and that really scares him. He’s Captain fucking America. He loves his country, he loves his people and his friends. He wants them all to be safe. His job is to protect _them_. But when Steve lies in bed at night after working tirelessly to do just that, the only one he’s thinking about, worrying if they’ll be ok, is Bucky. He’s so frightened of that feeling. Sam had just nodded seriously when he told him, hadn’t said anything back, probably already knew.

And now, he feels it again. And what can he even do to help? He hates being helpless but he just doesn’t know what to do for Bucky.

“Even… even the smallest things. Fuck, I just don’t know what I want!” Bucky’s voice is getting louder as his tears clear away for the anger now. “Pierce asked me once… he said ‘want some milk?’ and I fucking... It was a joke to him because I couldn’t say yes! But I couldn’t think of an answer either. It was like… I didn’t not want it. I wasn’t allowed to want it. I hate…” Bucky sobs and slams his hand against Steve’s back in frustration.

“Bucky. Bucky you’re not there anymore. I think… But I don’t, I can’t… I’m not sure how to help you, Buck.” Steve whispers it, as though he doesn’t have to admit that he’s just not sure how to make it better.

“It’s not your fault, Stevie.” Bucky murmurs against Steve’s shoulder. Steve’s heart pounds like it always does when he’s used the nickname or any endearment since he came back. “I don’t know either.”

\--

They don’t talk about it. Steve can’t really bring himself to mention it if Bucky doesn’t first. They end that day just curled up beside each other watching Disney movies and really they should find something new to do before they actually can’t leave the sofa.

A few days later and Steve is restless, he hasn’t been doing anything at all in his time off and now he can’t sleep. He goes for a run and when he gets back, sweaty and exhausted, he almost jumps out of his skin finding Bucky sitting motionless in the dark kitchen.

“Hey.” Bucky nods at him, blinking at the light now filling the room.

“Hey Buck. What are you doing up?” Steve gulps the cool water he found in the fridge and Bucky watched him, eyes sharp as he takes in Steve’s sweaty body and his running gear.

“You went for a run.” It’s not a question but Steve nods and runs a hand through his short damp hair. Bucky looks down at the floor. “I wondered… where you were.”

Steve is surprised. Really quite confused. How did Bucky even know he was gone? And why was he awake? Did he hear him leave? Had Steve worried him by leaving in the night with no explanation? “Oh.” He says. “Thought you were asleep.”

“I don’t sleep much. Nightmares.” Steve can’t believe how much Bucky is opening up to him. He stays silent, hoping to encourage Bucky to say more. “And I don’t like being alone.”

And ok it makes sense, but Steve never really thought about it before. In the old days they would sleep together and often cuddle in the night to keep warm, or just because they loved to hold each other. Steve missed that for a long time when Buck wasn’t around. He still misses it but he is more used to the loneliness now. It seems obvious that Bucky would feel the same and yet he never thought about it.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” Steve shakes his head at himself. He wonders absently whether Bucky was already sitting here in the dark when Steve left for his run. He wonders how often he sits out here and for how long.

Steve feels shy asking, “Do you remember how we used to sleep?” Bucky’s memory is a bit of a mess still. He says he remembers some things but coaxing them out of him is usually tough.

“I think I do. It was nice.”

Steve clears his throat and looks up to see Bucky is already staring at him. His mouth is frowning but his eyes shine with the memory and Steve almost loses his breath. “I’m happy to… We could…” he stutters, desperate for this, wanting to be closer to Bucky, but also for Bucky’s sake, “You are welcome to, um, sleep in my room, um, if you’d like. With me. If it’ll help you sleep.”

Steve hopes Bucky might crack a smile, amble over to him, put his rounds his neck and peck his lips, say ‘thanks darling’ and pull him to the bedroom. He doesn’t of course. They’re not there yet. But his frown disappears and his eyebrows raise a fraction. “Ok.” He seems surprised Steve offered. Steve tries not to think too much about that.

“And as for the nightmares,” Steve continues and maybe there is a slight blush creeping up his neck, “I can make you something for that.” He was moving to grab a mug and reach into the fridge but he pauses while a memory plays in his mind. Maybe it’s a crazy idea but he thinks about what he’s got from Bucky so far today. They’re making progress. Maybe he can just push him a little more…

“Want some milk?”

He was wrong to expect Bucky’s head to snap up in anger or horror or despair or something. But the way Bucky slowly raises his head, eyes wide and tormented is much worse.

***

He’s confused and hurt. They already had this conversation. What the fuck does Steve want from him now?

Steve raises his eyebrows, expecting an answer Bucky can’t give him and Bucky’s skin starts to prickle with frustration. Had Steve not understood what he’d told him about Pierce? This just seems like he doesn’t care at all, is even making fun of him. But that can’t be right. Steve loves him. He remembers (spent a hell of a lot of time regaining those memories) how they loved each other before and he can see it in the way Steve looks at him every day. So why?

Steve’s narrow eyes and tense shoulders indicate to Bucky that this is a challenge more than anything. Bucky doesn’t want to back down but he’s not sure at all how to respond. He’s made it very clear he doesn’t fucking know what he wants. He can’t think what to say to Steve. So he leaves. Just stands and walks away from the situation.

He’s in his cold, dark room before he remembers Steve offered his bed to him.

\--

When their paths meet the next day Bucky waste no time getting his answers. “Why did you ask me that last night?”

Steve stops still reaching into a cupboard in the kitchen. “I thought milk might help you sleep better.” He says stiffly and turns around to lean his bum against the counter, facing Bucky.

“But why” Bucky sighs “did you ask it _like that_? Those particular words.” His arms are crossed tightly over his chest, cool metal against bare skin. Steve stays silent for several minutes, either unsure what to say or waiting for Bucky to say more. Bucky frowns at the floor. “Were you making fun of me?”

Steve is quick to answer a definite “No.” Bucky raises his eyes to watch Steve pass a hand over his face and hair, seemingly tired and frustrated. “I just want to help you Bucky.”

Ok. Bucky can accept that. Steve loves him and sometimes he is pretty sure he loves Steve. If Steve asked for his help he’d give it. He’d help even if Steve couldn’t ask. If Steve needed him, he’d be there. If that’s love then he doesn’t mind it at all. He wants to be there for Steve. And if Steve is saying he feels the same then how can Bucky deny him? Maybe he doesn’t understand Steve’s methods but he’ll accept them for now.

\--

The second time is a couple of days later. They’re up again in the middle of the night. Steve flops unsuspectingly onto the couch and nearly flattens Bucky beneath him. They curl up under shared warm blankets, knees brushing together, and Steve says “Hey Buck?”

“Yeah Steve?”

“Want some milk?”

Bucky can almost hear Steve holding his breath, awaiting his response. He’s still not sure what to say, what to do. He wonders what Steve wants him to say.

“Ok.” He whispers eventually, with difficulty, knowing he probably won’t speak even one more syllable tonight. And maybe there’s a tiny light shining in Steve’s eyes at the response which lights a tiny flame in Bucky’s heart. Steve unwraps himself from the cocoon of blankets and potters around the kitchen warming some milk for the both of them. Steve’s eyes search Bucky’s face for something when he returns and hands him a mug of milk. Bucky tries to smile but he’s not sure what it looks like. He doesn’t think he’s smiled in a very long time. He sips the milk and Steve continues to peer at him over his own mug.

The milk makes his belly feel warm and full. They stay under the covers until they both begin to yawn. Eventually Steve gets up again, moving toward his bedroom. “Bucky, you’re still welcome.” His voice is quiet, hesitant but Bucky strains to listen carefully. “To sleep in my bedroom. If you want.”

Bucky nods gently, mostly to himself, but if Steve can see then he is acknowledging he’s heard. He listens for Steve’s retreating footsteps a few minutes later.

Bucky falls asleep on the sofa that night, their empty mugs abandoned on the coffee table.

\--

The thing is, Steve keeps asking. Every time they cross paths out of bed in the night, Steve offers him some milk. And now if Bucky has a flashback leaving him feeling uneasy or downright upset or angry, Steve will gently squeeze his shoulder and say those three words: “Want some milk?” Steve’s eyes are so sincere that Bucky knows he isn’t toying with him.

If asked Bucky would say yes, he enjoys the milk. He definitely enjoys Steve’s company and chatter as they sip from their mugs. And he begins to enjoy the familiarity of the situation. Milk with Steve when he doesn’t feel right is good. He likes it.

It takes a long time, months. Bucky realises at the start of spring that he _anticipates_ the times he can share some milk with Steve. It is one particular evening, before bed with the sun sinking spectacularly outside their windows when Bucky feels the desire for some milk. He actually wants it. He wants Steve to offer so that they can sit opposite each other on the window seat with their feet curled together and drink milk until dark. He doesn’t express his realisation to Steve. He waits. He doesn’t know why exactly. But he knows he isn’t fixed. He’s still not all right.

But maybe he can admit Steve has healed a small part of him. He likes drinking milk with Steve so much that he wants it to continue for a long time. He wants his time with Steve to continue. He wants Steve.

He remembers bits of their past together. He knows they were something. There were kisses and cuddles and sex and _love_. He doesn’t know how perfect or happy it all was. But it was good.

Since they’d both returned and reunited, there had been hugs, brief touches and long looks. He can feel how much love there is between them on both sides. He doesn’t know what exactly Steve wants from him and he’s only just beginning to realise his own wants. He’s confused but he’s surprised to find he is not scared. He loves and wants and needs Steve. He knows Steve. Steve knows him and isn’t running. He won’t leave him or take advantage. He trusts Steve with fucking everything. And Steve has helped him so much. He’s more himself, more of a person than he was half a year ago, thanks to Steve.

Bucky’s thoughts are interrupted as Steve turns to face him, folding his legs up on the sofa beside him and smiling softly at Bucky. “Hey.” He whispers softly and Bucky blinks at him, eyes clouded with his thoughts of adoration for this man.

“Yes?” he whispers back, turning to face Steve fully.

“I’m pretty exhausted. Might go to bed in a bit. You want some milk now?”

And yes Bucky wants some milk. He really does but there’s something else he’s started thinking about and he can’t shake the idea of it. He just wants to know what it would be like. His eyes drift over Steve’s sharp features and he sighs. Steve’s eyelids flutter and he is clearly tired from work. And Bucky just wants to wrap him up and keep _him_ safe. Protect his boy.

Bucky almost frowns at the memory of Steve, wrapped up and sniffling in their bed. He was so small and often sick. But Bucky loved to look after him, felt good to be keeping his boy safe and loved. Bucky wants to curl himself around the man in front of him now as much as he did back then. This man is the same boy inside, his Stevie.

“Actually,” Bucky finally says, looking into Steve’s blue eyes, “can I have a kiss?”

He can hear Steve’s breath stutter, sees his eyes widen. His mouth opens to say something but nothing comes out and eventually he nods his reply.

Now that Steve has actually agreed, Bucky leans a little closer. Their breaths mingle and Bucky steadies himself with his metal arm on the couch behind Steve, and so what if he grips a little too hard? They can fix the furniture later.

The first touch is a gentle nudge of their mouths, before they’re moulding their lips together and finding a slow but firm pace. Bucky tries to ignore the excited beats of his heart as Steve opens up to him, pulls him closer with arms thrown around his neck and head tipped back. Bucky’s hands move to rub slowly along Steve’s back, becoming familiar with his warmth and feeling the muscles he’s grown since they last touched like this. Steve smells and tastes like vanilla and this close Bucky feels intoxicated and almost overwhelmed with memories. He remembers moments where they could hardly wait to get into their flat and would press together against the door and whisper ‘I love you’. He remembers taking showers together when there wasn’t much hot water, but they would run out anyway because Bucky got on his knees for his Stevie. He remembers falling asleep spooning Steve’s small shivering body and waking up smothered by vanilla scented blond locks and warm skin rutting against him, tugging off his underwear.

Bucky smiles into the kiss.

He couldn’t say how long they continue for but when he pulls away there’s a pink flush on Steve’s cheeks and his eyes are dark. Bucky’s right hand is gripping the back of his neck tightly and Steve’s breaths are heavy, and Bucky can’t say he’s not happy with this reaction. He doesn’t feel ready for more though. He moves slightly back but leaves his arms resting around Steve’s body.

“Maybe we can have that milk now?” he says and if there is the start of a smile on his face then Steve is to blame.

“Ok, yeah, I, sure, ok.” Steve stammers, flustered but pleased. Bucky loves the way he looks with a blush settled across his strong tan face. To Bucky’s delight he turns red faster when Bucky says “thanks, Stevie” as he pours the milk.

Bucky walks to the window with his milk and watches the last rays of sun disappear. He feels Steve come to stand a little behind him and turns so they’re face to face, closer than he realised. The orange glow from outside illuminates Steve’s face. “Steve, I hope that was ok. Kissing you. I just really wanted to.”

Steve is quick to reassure him, “Of course, more than ok! I—” His eyes widen and he blinks repeatedly when he realises the extent of what Bucky had admitted. “You… you _wanted_ …?”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth lifts with amusement and he trails his index finger over the smooth lines of Steve’s face. He watches Steve’s throat as he swallows.

“I’m really happy for you, Buck.” His voice is thick with emotion and Bucky kind of wants to thank him. Instead, he steps forward and they hug. He wishes he could just stay in Steve’s arms and not have to face anything or anyone outside of this flat. He recalls Steve’s offer when he’d first complained of his insomnia. “Hey Stevie?”

He feels Steve bury his face into the hair covering his neck and mumble a reply, “Mhmm?”

“Do you remember you said I could sleep in your bed with you?”

Steve stills in his arms, wrapped tightly around him. Bucky swallows nervously when Steve pulls back to look at him, his eyes searching Bucky’s face. Steve grabs his hand in his, unafraid of his metal arm, and pulls him away from the window towards the hallway and their bedrooms, leaving their mugs on the window ledge together. At the door to Steve’s room, he sends a blushing grin over his shoulder, pulling Bucky inside and to the bed. He lets go of Bucky’s hand to climb onto the bed in his shirt and briefs, and sits facing Bucky and smiling patiently.

Bucky takes a moment to look around the room, take in his new surroundings. The walls are a soft pale blue, the bed covered in dark blue sheets and there’s a desk in the corner under the window. Bucky imagines Steve sitting there staring out into the street, while Bucky sits alone and miserable on the floor in the next room. He quite likes this room. His own room held Steve’s old paintings, his easel and paints and brushes. He’s sure Steve hasn’t touched any of it since Bucky claimed the room. He often lies in his makeshift bed, before sleep closes in on him, (or doesn’t), staring at the works of art and thinking what a shame it is he’s getting in the way of Steve’s life. Art had always been his hobby and Bucky loves that part of him dearly. He used to love to see his work and praise him for it. He enjoys perusing the canvases stacked against the walls in his room, picking out his favourites to admire again and again, wondering what inspired it, what Steve had been thinking when he painted it. But he feels terrible getting in the way of Steve’s art. He wishes the room could remain Steve’s studio without Bucky having nowhere to stay, but he was always afraid if he brought it up, the conversation would end with him having to leave.

Standing in the middle of Steve’s own bedroom, Bucky is hit with the image of them sharing this room permanently instead. Steve could make use of his studio once again and Bucky could sleep in Steve’s arms… It could almost be like how it used to be.

Bucky’s eyes find Steve, still watching him from the bed. As though Steve knows his thoughts, he stretches out a hand to pull Bucky closer. Bucky goes willingly, relaxes further under Steve’s touch. He kneels on the bed covers in front of his boy. Steve’s blue eyes stare up at him, filled with so much adoration, Bucky finds it almost painful to maintain eye contact. How does Steve manage to love him, after everything?

Steve’s fingers creep around to firmly grip Bucky’s waist and he presses a soft kiss to his chest, through his shirt. After a moment pressed against Bucky’s solid body, he looks up again and Bucky’s lips twitch in a nervous smile. He isn’t ready for everything at once. He’s hoping that Steve knows that. Clever, thoughtful Steve who has known him longer than anyone. Taking up the offer of sleeping together, he had envisioned only curling close and sharing warmth. Staring into Steve’s eyes is calming. He can see only an ocean of love and respect. Steve actually _respects_ Bucky and Bucky’s wishes, his _wants_ , unlike so many others before. As Steve backs away and pulls back the bed covers, Bucky realises how ridiculous it was to even imagine Steve might do something Bucky is uncomfortable with. Steve’s movements are slow and gentle. Patient.

He climbs under the covers and beckons Bucky to fill the space beside him, actually blushes happily when Bucky lies down on his side, facing him. Minutes pass filled with soft breaths and Bucky’s eyes trailing over Steve’s face, watching his fluttering eyelids as he grows tired. No words are needed and Bucky feels more at ease than he has in a long time. He barely hesitates in lifting his hand to rest on Steve’s chest. Then he realises it’s the metal one, wonders how heavy it is, uncomfortable maybe, debates removing it, reminds himself Steve is a super soldier too. Steve doesn’t seem to notice but just as Bucky is closing his own eyes, falling into sleep, he closes his hand around Bucky’s metal wrist, keeping him close.

\--

After that night they share Steve’s bed every night. They progress to cuddling one night when Steve is particularly restless. Bucky is surprised to see him tossing and turning, sometimes forgets that Steve suffers with some of the same problems he does. They aren’t used to beds like this, a world like this, and they’ve been through so much.

Bucky almost offers to make him some milk.

After an hour of subtly watching, pretending he’s asleep (although he’s not sure why), Bucky inches closer. Steve’s currently flopped on his back, his muscles tense beneath his white tank top. Bucky shuffles across the bed, rolling into Steve’s side and nuzzling his nose in against warm skin. The smell of vanilla overwhelms him. Inhaling deeply, he wonders whether he’s doing this for Steve’s sake or his. Steve’s arm comes up around his back, holds him close and, well, he can’t toss about now that Bucky is resting on him. If Steve has any clue Bucky’s not asleep, he doesn’t let on, just turns his body more towards his friend. And they snuggle. Bucky feels better than he has in a long time when he wakes up wrapped in warm skin, sun creeping through the cracks in the curtain, highlighting the angles of Steve’s sleeping face.

\--

Sam visits. The three of them sit around the kitchen table and talk and Bucky’s surprised by how comfortable he is with them both now. And when Sam mentions the spare room, Bucky’s room, Steve’s eyes fill with warmth when Bucky answers for the both of them: “Steve’s gotta get back to his painting. He’s real good. Did you ever see?”

It ends with them all traipsing into the studio and examining each painting. Bucky takes it upon himself to pull out a few of his favourites. He thinks Steve is surprised. They brush hands and shoulders as they move around the room, reorganising the studio space and placing fresh white canvases on easels, brushes laid out ready for use. It feels like moving on. Starting over. But familiar, and it feels good. It feels right. Bucky smiles when Steve rests his arm around his shoulders, long fingers brushing his chest.

Sam hugs them both goodbye, no hesitation, and Bucky is alright with it, hugging him back calmly. Sam’s clever like that, can sense the change in him and knows he’s healing.

When he’s gone, Bucky kisses Steve. He could count on both hands how many kisses they’ve shared since the first two weeks ago. Steve is so patient. Bucky always initiates it. And that helps Bucky know when he’s ready for the next step. At night, he reflects on how well they work together, how well they fit and how well they know and understand each other. It makes him smile and press himself against Steve’s sleeping body.

Now, kissing Steve deeply, resting against his firm chest, he knows what he wants to happen. He pulls Steve to their bedroom. It is _theirs_ now; Bucky’s things are everywhere. Pushing Steve down on the bed and crawling over him, Bucky feels dazed. He loves this man so much. This beautiful man, with a paling tan and a clean shaven jaw. Blue eyes gaze up at Bucky, pinning him there, silently asking if he’s ok with this, if he’s sure. Bucky loves feeling cared for by his Stevie.

He swoops down and kisses Steve hard, pins his wrists to the bed above him. He doesn’t care that Steve is surprised. He _wants_ this, he wants Steve so much. He wants what they had before and he’s waited long enough.

They kiss for a long time, Bucky gently grinding his hips down against Steve, stroking his fingers up and down his bare arms. Soft hair, strong muscles. Pulling back, he looks smugly down at Steve’s reddened lips, his chin pink, burned from the rough scratch of Bucky’s beard. He slips out of his shirt and tugs at Steve’s. After their scramble to remove clothes, they slow down. These touches are almost too gentle and loving for Bucky to bear. They roll onto their sides, facing each other, Bucky’s left leg thrown over Steve’s thighs. Each kiss seems to last an hour. Bucky gets caught up in every touch, almost forgetting to breathe. And every time, Steve pulls back and gives him a minute. Helps him remember.

Eventually, Bucky grows impatient with the pace they’re going, has more in mind that he wants, and goes to tug Steve closer. The light reflecting off the metal of his left arm as it moves makes him flinch back in surprise. Both men pause for a moment, sharing heavy breaths.

Bucky almost sighs at himself for stupidly forgetting that things aren’t just back to normal, and maybe he’s trying too hard to get back to how they were. He can feel Steve’s gaze searching his face as Bucky lies uncomfortably in the quiet. He isn’t sure what to do. Wants Steve to do something, say something. Has he freaked Steve out or just himself?

“Buck…” Hands grip his metal wrist, lift his arm and then Steve is laying kiss after tender kiss down it. His lips brush over each metal plate, aware of how symbolic that fucking arm is to Bucky. A symbol of how far from free he has been, and how much he has suffered, been used and altered. The changes in Bucky are evident and here Steve is, accepting Bucky as he is. No matter how damaged, inside and out. “Bucky.” He murmurs, warm lips on cold metal. “I love you, Buck.” And Bucky knows he shouldn’t doubt himself, because his Stevie has always accepted him. Loved him. Taken care of him. Always has. He’s starting to let himself believe that he always will.

“Steve.” he whispers. “I _want_ you.”

Steve understands immediately. Those words are everything. He’s helped Bucky understand himself, know himself and know what he wants. Bucky thinks about thanking him. But he’ll settle for just loving him, being with him. He thinks Steve doesn’t want the thanks. He just wants his Bucky. And fuck, Bucky is trying so hard to hold on tightly to the parts of the man he was before. To make Steve happy, of course. But for his own sake too. Bucky hopes they can make this work because he’d quite like a fucking happy ending to his mess of a life. And being back together with the one thing, the one person that made him happy all those years ago, well, wouldn’t that just be perfect.

Steve’s lips leave metal to find Bucky’s face, kissing his mouth, his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, his eyebrow, his stubbly chin. Hands run over his body, igniting flames under his skin. No one has touched him this gently in a long time. Maybe ever. Only Steve. The touches make him feel fragile, like he deserves to be treated this tenderly. Unlike other touches he’s received in these last years. In Steve’s arms, he feels like he’s worth something.

It’s a good feeling. Makes Bucky warm inside. A smile appears on his face because he’s just so fucking content in Steve’s arms, under his hands.

Hands which move lower, pawing at his bum and stroking over his hip. Steve’s name stutters from his lips when he grips his dick at the base. Steve’s lips brush over his neck while he strokes agonisingly slowly over sensitive skin. Bucky’s body feels heavy, glued to the mattress. He wonders briefly if Steve expects reciprocation but Bucky doesn’t think he can move so the thought is dismissed.

Steve continues wanking him, drawing it out for a long time until Bucky is shivering, eyes narrowed and huffing breaths into Steve’s pale hair. All the while, Steve is nibbling on his neck, leaving a trail of aching bruises. Bucky jolts, then moans when a dry finger drifts further back, seeking out his hole. He wants to let Steve know how much he wants that right the fuck now but he can’t get the words out. His fingers reach up to grip Steve’s bicep, doesn’t notice if his nails dig in. He wants to say ‘I love you. Please _please_ fuck me. I love you Stevie. Don’t fucking stop.’ His moans get louder as Steve’s finger presses firmly against his hole, almost breaching him. Not enough though. He withdraws and Bucky is silent with frustration, fists clenched.

“Just getting lube.” Steve mumbles and he seems shy, anxious even. He fumbles with the bottle he grabs. Bucky needs Steve to know how desperate he is, how impatient and ready. As Steve drips lube over his fingers, rubs them together and drops the bottle, Bucky’s arms come up to grab at his back. (He tries to ignore the sight of metal that still puts him on edge.) He rubs over the tense muscles and pulls Steve in, settles his mouth to his ear.

“Steve.” he whispers, feeling a little shy himself. It’s clearly been a while for both of them. And a lot has changed. “Stevie. Please don’t stop. Please put your fingers in me. I really – fuck I want you so bad. Steve.” All he can manage is small whispers of sentences in his ear, convincing Steve, telling him what he wants, reassuring him. His words become a jumble when Steve finally eases one, then two slick fingers inside him. He breathes more than speaks in his ear, and once or twice he bites on Steve’s neck, his vision swimming with pleasure when fingers brush over his prostate. Bucky doesn’t know how long it’s been since Sam left or how long he’s had Steve’s fingers in his ass but he’s shaking under Steve’s heavy body, his cock dripping against his stomach, trapped torturously between them. Steve is smiling down at him even as Bucky scratches fingernails over his back. “Stevie.” He wants to come, can’t ask Steve, just keeps whimpering his name. Fingers twist and scissor in his hole and his back arches up, bumping chests with Steve. He’s not going to last long now.

***

Steve loves to see Bucky in this state. He forgot how much he loved sex with Bucky, but it hadn’t really seemed important until now. He just wanted the man back, wanted his mind to heal. But sure he’d been uncomfortably aroused the first few times he encountered Bucky wondering around the apartment in just his boxers. And he’d always remembered the amazing sex life they had before everything went to shit, sometimes used it for wank material. But his memories didn’t compare to this.

Bucky lies beneath him, a crease between his brows, cheeks flushed, eyes closed. Steve licks a bead of sweat from his temple and nudges his nose against his damp hairline. He breathes him in.

Steve rests over him on one elbow, his right hand buried in Bucky’s ass. He strokes his thumb over Bucky’s balls, already knows he’s close from the way he tightens impossibly round his fingers.

He’s so relieved to hear Bucky tell him he wants this, wants him. Steve feels like he’s been tiptoeing round him for so long, and he’s anxious about letting go. He had to be certain first. He couldn’t stand it if Bucky comes to regret what they do now.

“Ready.” Bucky pants and Steve already knew but he was lost in the tight squeeze of Bucky around his fingers. He’s so hot inside and Steve’s mind scrambles to comprehend that Bucky’s going to let him fuck him. Steve’s topped before, but god it’s different now. The dynamics have changed wildly. They’re different people, physically and mentally, yet there’s a familiar comfort in the closeness of their bodies. Steve wants to live in this moment, feeling the warmth of Bucky underneath him and the hot breaths they share. Their eyes meet and he knows Bucky is feeling something similar. They dive into a kiss filled with smiles and teeth.

Steve removes his fingers and lubes his cock. He gazes at Bucky as he fucks slowly into him with his cock. A flush darkens high on Bucky’s cheeks, the crease between his brows deepens and soft whines fall from his parted lips, his tongue darting out to catch drips of sweat on his top lip. Steve quickens his pace and Bucky’s eyelashes flutter prettily. Steve is enraptured. He can’t tear his gaze away while searching and aiming for Bucky’s prostate, wants to see every tiny reaction. Bucky shivers when he hits it. He starts to moan, getting gradually louder, as Steve just fucks him harder. He’s perfect like this, Steve thinks. Ruined. Wrecked, but happily so. Bucky deserves to be treated right, and fuck Steve’s trying to do his best for him.

“I love you.” Steve whispers it repeatedly, against Bucky’s lips, the skin of his neck, into his ear and against his temple. Bucky closes his eyes, whines a response and comes all up his chest. Steve licks a line along Bucky’s open jaw, presses his nose behind his ear and fucks in hard a dozen more times before he too comes. Bucky groans at the sensation of Steve’s come filling him, still panting and flushed from his own orgasm. Steve thinks how beautiful he is like that.

It takes a few minutes of Steve collapsed, panting on top of Bucky before the latter is shoving the heavy blonde off him. Steve smiles from where he remains on the bed while he listens to Bucky putter off to the bathroom to clean up. When the footsteps return and the bed dips, Steve is already beginning to doze. He feels Bucky tug the covers out from under him and get into bed beside him. They curl together sleepily, revelling in the warmth of bare skin. Steve doesn’t think he’s ever felt so content.

\--

It gets easier.

Bucky still has freak outs, but Steve is there for him and Bucky allows him to help. And even when Steve isn’t around, Bucky learns to calm himself down. He learns to manage.

Steve is so proud of him, and so happy they’ve found a way to make it work. Sharing a bed, an apartment, sharing friends and loving each other. There’s no quick fix but Bucky often has a big smile ready for Steve when he gets home from working a mission and Steve will plant a kiss on him (because he doesn’t have to wait for Bucky to initiate it anymore). They talk and that’s one of the best parts; they share memories and fears and worries and wishes. Steve tells Bucky he loves him and they both know one day Bucky will tell him the same.

Neither of them sleeps well without the other. Even together occasionally they still have nightmares and they wake each other up with them sometimes. Then, they’ll chat over some warm milk and go back to bed together. Always together. And it all feels a lot better than before.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna chat with me or bounce fic ideas off each other or collab! or know more about me lmao, hit me up on tumblr @jack-i-swear or instagram @brokebucky


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